


You won't forget the man who's making you shake (the Next Time remix)

by Robin_tCJ



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Awkward Conversations, BDSM, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom Tony Stark, Hand Wavy Comic Book Science, Impact Play, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Remix, Restraints, Rimming, Sequel, Spanking, Sub Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 14:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13789818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: This is a remix ofNo Touchingbyvorkosigan. It's a story where Steve and Tony are locked in a room and made to have some BDSM sex. It's dub con, on account of the fuck-or-die scenario, but both participants have fun doing it.My remix is more of a sequel - about what happens when they get home and have to look one another in the eye again.





	You won't forget the man who's making you shake (the Next Time remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vorkosigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorkosigan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [No Touching](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276143) by [vorkosigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorkosigan/pseuds/vorkosigan). 
  * In response to a prompt by [vorkosigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorkosigan/pseuds/vorkosigan) in the [Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018) collection. 



> Thanks to my secret beta for the quick read!! If you haven't read Vorkosigan's original fic this might not make a lot of sense to you, so you might want to read it first. It helps that it's super hot, so.

By the time they get home, magical aliens defeated and escorted off-planet by Thor, things are almost getting awkward between them. Tony feels like, maybe, it wouldn’t have been so bad if they could have gone home right away, had time to talk about what had happened. Tear apart the whole experience, examine it from all angles and understand how the parts made up the whole. Instead, they’d had to join a melee, protect bystanders, save victims, and fight aliens. 

And then they’d had to turn around and fly home in the quinjet with the rest of the team, minus Thor, which sort of made it hard to decompress and debrief about the intensely kinky experience they’d had.

There was no universe where Tony was going to explain out loud what had happened to them while Clint was in the vicinity. Thor had given them a concerned, but knowing, look before he had gone off, and Natasha seemed to spend the flight staring at both of them more scrutinizingly than normal, but otherwise, Tony thinks they’re managing to keep the whole thing under wraps.

But, that means the doubt is creeping in. He knows Steve had said he’d enjoyed it. Implied he’d like to do it again. But that had been while he was still coming down from the euphoria of orgasm.

And, sure, Tony had been the one to  _ provide _ that orgasm, but that doesn’t mean it was  _ Tony _ that had been the  _ cause _ of it.

And he can’t stop replaying Steve’s orgasm in his mind. When he’d pressed the pommel of the flogger into his perineum, the way Steve’s whole body had bowed and shuddered and his knees had gone out from under him. 

If nothing else, Tony will have spank bank material for the rest of his natural life.

He’s unsure enough, by the time Clint docks the jet on the landing platform, that he goes straight to the workshop instead of anywhere that Steve can strike up a conversation. He mutters something about knocking the dents out of the armour as he goes by, and very carefully doesn’t look at Steve’s face. He doesn’t want to see the look of relief, the disgust with himself, with Tony. 

And no one says a word about the lack of dents currently in his armour.

 

========

 

Steve’s stomach drops to the floor when Tony goes by, not meeting his gaze. He’d thought – it had been – they need to talk. They need to discuss what had happened. They need to, well, do it again.

He’d thought Tony had enjoyed it, but now he’s not sure. Yeah, Steve is still a little embarrassed by his behaviour, by how much he’d enjoyed it, by what, exactly, he had enjoyed, but he’d thought Tony had liked it.

He watches Tony go, and then, not particularly wanting to have a conversation with any of their teammates or deal with the obviously curious expression on Nat’s face, heads for his own suite to shower. He smells like blood and soot and smoke and gunpowder. He also smells like sweat and come, but he tries not to think too hard about that.

He washes quickly. Part of him (one part in particular) kind of wants to jerk off in the shower, to replay what happened in that room in his mind. He responds by turning down the temperature of the water. The icy cold feels good against his too-hot skin, over the slightly swollen red flesh of his back and ass and nipples. 

He scrubs too roughly, then dries off quickly before slipping on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. He fixes himself a couple of egg salad sandwiches, wolfing them down to try to replenish some calories, and thinks.

He  _ knows _ he wasn’t mistaken about whether Tony had enjoyed the sex. So why had Tony run away? Second thoughts? Embarrassment? Steve can’t think of a reason that makes enough sense to be right. He swallows the last of his sandwich and wipes crumbs off his lips with the back of his hand.

“Jarvis?” he asks, finally. “Where’s Tony at right now?”

“Mr. Stark is currently in his workshop,” the AI answers. “Do you wish me to contact him for you?”

“No, no, that’s fine. Just – has he eaten since we got back?”

“No, Captain, he has neither eaten, nor slept, since the Avengers’ return.”

Steve sighs. Figures. He throws together another few sandwiches, putting them in a tupperware container and grabbing a couple of bottles of water from his fridge. He takes it all with him to the hallway, then into the elevator down to the workshop.

The doors slide open automatically, so at least Steve knows Tony hasn’t gone so far as to deliberately lock him out.

“Hey,” he says as he walks into the bright, gleaming space. The sounds of whirring bots and fabrication units mix nicely with the, for once, relatively quiet heavy rock music. Tony looks rumpled, but clean – he’d clearly showered down here in the decontamination chamber. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Steve,” Tony says, a brittle smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Thanks, yeah, I could eat.”

Steve sets the container down in front of Tony, and sits in the hydraulic stool next to him, resting one elbow on the workbench. “Are we going to talk about this?” he asks.

Tony’s hand freezes, mid-air where he’s reaching for a sandwich. He hesitates, then picks it up anyway, and taking a too-large bite. He makes a couple of humming noises, pointing to his full mouth to reiterate just how much he can’t ‘talk’ right now.

Steve rolls his eyes, opens one of the bottles and sets it in front of Tony before opening the other and taking a deep drink.

“Fine. Coward,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a sigh. He can’t quite bring himself to make eye contact, and he can  _ feel _ the humiliating blush staining his cheeks with heat, but he forces the words out anyway.

“I don’t have any regrets about what happened,” Steve says. “It’s maybe not how I would have wanted it, and it’s maybe not the situation I would have chosen, but I  _ did _ want it, and I  _ did  _ choose it.”

Tony stares at him for a long moment, his chewing gradually slowing down until his jaw isn’t moving anymore. He swallows roughly, then reaches for the water in front of him and drinks half of it in one go.

“I – me, either,” he finally says, his voice slightly strained. “Maybe I regret part of it.”

Steve’s heart thumps. “Which part?”

“The part where I didn’t get to touch you,” he says, finally, eyes downcast to the floor. 

“Then why did you run away when we got back? Why are you down here, in the shop, and not upstairs talking to me?”

Tony shrugs one shoulder. “Didn’t think you’d – I thought you might want some time. To process.”

“This is me, processing,” Steve says, rolling his eyes again. “Don’t you think we’d be better off processing this  _ together _ ? Since it involves both of us?”

Tony glances up, and this time their eyes meet. It’s like a fire in Steve’s gut, just like that.

“I don’t want to push. What we did – what I did to you… it’s a lot. I know how vulnerable it can feel, after, and I wanted to give you the chance to work that out.”

Steve reaches out, can’t help himself, and brushes a thumb up Tony’s jaw line, over the prickly beard there, to the warm skin. It feels like electricity dancing in his fingertips.

“I don’t feel vulnerable,” Steve tells him, but then, that’s not true. “Well, not in a bad way. You feel it too, though, don’t you? That vulnerability?”

Tony scoffs a little. “Not to the same extent –”

“Tony.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to roll his eyes, but he also tips his head to the side a little, pressing his cheek into the palm of Steve’s hand. It’s like buzzing under Steve’s skin. 

“Fine. It was… it was intense. And good. And I enjoyed it, and I’m glad it happened, even though I don’t like  _ how _ it happened.”

Steve leans forward in his stool a little, so he’s just propped up on the edge of it. Leans into Tony’s space, so close he can feel Tony’s warm breath on his skin.

“And how do you feel about doing it again?” Steve says, trying to keep his voice steady.

Tony’s eyes tick back and forth, as though searching Steve’s for some hint of doubt, some insecure flicker, but Steve just stares steadily back at him.

“Pretty good,” Tony whispers, and then he closes the distance between them and presses his lips to Steve’s.

 

========

 

It takes time to get themselves set up. Tony has some supplies in his suite, but not everything.

Steve says he can find them some restraints if Tony promises not to ask where he got them. Tony’s turned on enough that he’s willing to agree to that, and Steve gives him a hot, fierce kiss as he steps into the elevator. 

While he waits, Tony sets up a suspension cable over his bed. It doesn’t take long to put a couple of reinforced hooks in the ceiling to hold the cable over the centre of it.

Steve comes back about 20 minutes later, looking like he’s swallowed a frog and his face red with embarrassment, but he has a pair of leather wrist restraints in his hand, so Tony decides he doesn’t care. When Steve reaches the side of the bed, Tony pulls him in for a deep, slow kiss. He lets his tongue dance along the seam of Steve’s lips, and basks in the needy sound it coaxes out of Steve’s throat.

“Can you, um… can you be undressed, this time?” Steve asks breathlessly when Tony pulls away to start working at Steve’s clothing. The front of his sweats are already tented a bit with excitement.

“Absolutely,” Tony says, nipping at Steve’s throat before taking a step back to take his clothes off. Steve watches him for a moment, his eyes hot and intent with arousal.

Tony takes his shirt off, and admires the way the light from the arc reactor plays across Steve’s face for a beat. “Take your clothes off,” Tony orders, keeping his voice at a low register, but insistent, like velvet over steel.

Steve swallows roughly, then drops the wrist cuffs to the bed and pulls his shirt up over his head by the neck of it. Tony unzips his jeans and pushes them down over his hips, but he keeps his eyes on Steve as he strips his sweat pants off. His cock is almost fully hard, and his skin is flawless, pale and creamy. There’s no sign of the – admittedly, tame – damage Tony had done to it with the flogger. No redness, no bruising. Just soft, warm skin.

He wants to run his hands over every inch of it.

But not yet.

“Would you like to touch me?” Tony asks him, studying Steve’s face as his eyes rove over Tony’s body. 

“Yes,” Steve hisses. “Please, Tony.”

Tony nods once, and then Steve is stepping forward, supernaturally quick. Instead of going right for Tony’s cock, as Tony had assumed, Steve puts one big warm hand on the front of his ribcage, sliding back to Tony’s side, then down to his hip. The other hand comes up to cradle Tony’s jaw, and he leans forward. He hesitates before their lips meet, as though waiting for an objection. When none is forthcoming (because Tony isn’t  _ stupid _ ), he kisses Tony. It’s warm and wet and hot, a little sloppy with desire.

Tony lets himself be swept up in it for a moment, and his own hands move up to Steve’s waist of their own volition. Tony wraps his arms around Steve, hands caressing his back, his ass.

Steve moans, and it’s a warm, broken sound that reminds Tony just exactly what they’re doing here.

“You remember your safe word?”

“Yes,” Steve says. 

“Good.” Tony steps back, disengaging from all contact, and then sweeps an arm out in invitation at the bed. “On the bed, on your knees.” The commanding tone of voice is back, and he revels in the way Steve’s pupils dilate, the way his cock twitches.

Steve crawls onto the bed, and kneels in the centre of it, palms on his big, muscular thighs. He sits back on his heels, knees slightly spread. Tony just looks at him for a few moments, before he crawls up onto the bed as well, kneeling beside Steve. He picks up the cuffs and locks them around Steve’s wrists before pulling them up over Steve’s head and attaching them to the suspension cable.

He lets himself touch Steve properly, then, sliding his hands down Steve’s trembling arms, his shoulders, his chest. Pinches each nipple as he goes by them, and traces his fingers over the ridges of Steve’s abdomen. Steve’s chest is heaving already as he pants for breath. Tony’s hands brush over his hip bones, then down to his thighs. They’re hot and hard and the little smattering of blonde hair makes Tony’s palms tingle.

He presses his thumbs a little into the inside of Steve’s thighs, and Steve shifts his knees apart wider at the prompting. Tony rewards his obedience by running his hands back up Steve’s thighs, his thumbs sliding into the creases where they meet his groin, and then he slides one hand down enough to cradle Steve’s balls. He lets his hand run over the delicate skin, and drags his other hand around to Steve’s hip, tugging lightly on it.

“Sit up, here,” he says. Steve does, his thighs flexing and bunching, as he lifts his hips and straightens them. It brings his arms down a little so that his elbows are bent, he can press his face against his hands, and Tony can reach his ass.

“Spread your legs,” Tony tells him, authoritative. Steve obeys, breath ragged.

“You remember your safe word?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Steve says, impatient and breathy. “Please, Tony, just touch me.”

The hand on Steve’s balls moves up and presses flat against Steve’s belly, fingers splayed over the ridges of muscle, and he takes the other hand off Steve’s skin, winding up and delivering a light slap to the meaty flesh of his ass. 

Steve cries out, trembles, and his eyes close. His jaw goes slack, and Tony is impressed, at the way he drops into it, the way his whole body relaxes and tenses at the same time.

Tony slaps the other cheek, a little harder than the first one, and when Steve moans, he takes it for the encouragement it is.

He spanks Steve a few more times in quick succession, and then lays his hand on the warming, pinked skin. The other hand, the one on Steve’s belly, he slides up to his pecs, and starts flicking and pinching his right nipple. They’d spent a lot of time on the left one, back in that room, and Tony thinks he’d like to treat the other one as fairly as possible. He rolls the tight little nub in his fingers, letting this nails dig into the areola as he does. Steve is whimpering already, his hips pushing forward in broken little aborted thrusts. Tony keeps pinching at the nipple, twisting it, flicking over it. 

“Tony,” Steve moans. “God, Tony, please.”

“Please what, Steve?” Tony tries to make himself sound bored, cold, disinterested, but if Steve were to look at him, he would see the attentive, desperate arousal all over Tony’s face.

“Anything. Please, Tony.”

“Be specific,” Tony orders. 

“Your – your hand. On my ass. Make it – god, hit me there again,” he finally says, forcing the words out.

“Manners, Steve,” Tony chides him, still flicking and pinching at his nipple.

“ _ Please _ ,” Steve says, his voice almost desperate. 

Tony takes it as good enough, mostly because he wants to watch Steve sway and tremble under his hand. He spanks him again, and again and again, and Steve whimpers, his whole body arching up  _ into _ the touch.

“Oh, look how hard you are for me, baby,” Tony says, glancing down Steve’s body to his cock, hard and red and slick at the tip.

Steve doesn’t answer, too busy pushing back into Tony’s slaps. Tony hits him until his hand is hot and tingling, watching raptly as Steve’s skin goes hot and red and swollen. His other hand has moved over to Steve’s left nipple, and is tracing a gentle circle around it, around and around, a deliberate contrast to the stinging buzzing of his ass.

“Tony, god, you’re so – god, please, please,” Steve babbles, his forehead damp with sweat. 

Tony’s own hard cock is throbbing insistently at him, but he ignores it for now. He’s not done. He wants to hear Steve scream for him.

Tony shifts and walks on his knees until he’s behind Steve, scratching sharp fingernails over the red, abused skin of Steve’s ass cheeks. He watches the white lines in his wake deepen to purple, as Steve moans, and then Tony is pushing at his shoulders roughly, until Steve’s body tips forward at the hips. He can’t quite bend all the way over, but it’s enough, and Tony dips his head, slides back on the bed until he can reach, and spreads Steve’s hot, swollen cheeks apart. He doesn’t hesitate, too keyed up to be anything but impatient, and he licks a broad stripe up Steve’s crease, wet tongue sliding over the hot, tender skin all the way to the base of his spine.

Steve yelps, and his arms tug hard on the suspension cable, but it’s not quite enough to break anything. His back arches and he sticks his ass out even more, and Tony’s pretty sure it’s not a conscious effort, so he rewards the action with another lick, and then he sucks and licks and kisses at the rim of Steve’s hole.

“Tony, Tony, Tony, Tony,” Steve chants, his hips thrusting back into Tony’s mouth. Tony grips his hips, thumbs pressing into the tender flesh of his ass, and keeps licking at him. 

Steve’s encouragement grows incoherent, slurred words that could be Tony’s name, or they could be the lyrics to a Tom Jones song, for all Tony can understand them.

He’s revelling in the feeling of Steve’s entrance relaxing around his tongue, at the way Steve’s thighs are trembling and shaking as though he can barely hold himself up. His hands are tightened into fists, his mouth is slack and open as he pants and moans.

Tony pulls back then, kissing his way up Steve’s spine as he reaches for the bedside table, where he’s put a bottle of lube. 

“No, please, don’t – please, Tony, don’t stop,” he moans, voice frantic and delirious. 

“Shh, honey, not going anywhere,” Tony tells him. And then he’s rubbing slick fingers along Steve’s crack, slippery and sliding over the skin, and then he presses two fingers in. He’s gentle, but it’s still a bit of a stretch to start out with, but he’s banking on the fact that Steve likes the sharp fire of pain, the edge of ‘too much’ to it. 

He’s proven right when Steve cries out, his cock pulsing and throbbing. A heavy bead of precome drips from the slit, and Tony’s own cock throbs in a mixture of excitement and sympathy. 

“Oh god, yes, yes, yes,” Steve says. “Please, Tony, please, keep – hit me, please.”

And who is Tony to say no? He keeps driving his fingers into Steve’s hole, slick and hot and hard, doing his best to glance along his prostate as he goes, but his other hand, the one resting on Steve’s belly again, he lifts and smacks, slapping the soft skin. He’s using his left hand for it, his right hand slipping two, now three fingers in and out of Steve’s body. Steve has straightened up, clenching around Tony’s fingers but also arching his belly forward, moving  _ into _ the impact. Tony can tell he’s close, that it won’t take much more.

“Spread your legs,” he says sharply. “Nice and wide.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t open his eyes, he just shifts his legs apart, spreads them wide. And his balls are tight, heavy and hard, hanging between his legs. His cock is full and straight, bouncing as he moves. It’s a beautiful, wonderful visual, and Tony commits it to memory, even as he speeds up his thrusting fingers. He slaps Steve’s belly a couple more times, and then he takes a chance, hopes this is what Steve needs, what will push him over the edge, and he slaps at Steve’s balls. Not too hard, they’re so sensitive, but hard enough to sting, and Steve does scream then, hoarse and hot and desperate, a wail of pain and pleasure and triumph as his cock jerks, throbs and pulses. Hot, white ropes of come shoot from the head, over the bedspread, dripping down his shaft and onto his balls and his thighs. He drags in a ragged breath, his body helplessly thrusting back into Tony’s hand, his hole clenching and fluttering over the digits. 

Tony can’t wait anymore, he can’t, and he pulls his fingers out, ignoring the sound of loss it rips out of Steve’s chest, and he stands up, grabbing Steve’s wrists and the suspension cable for leverage. He stands in front of Steve, tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair to hold his head up, and then he works at his own cock, hard and sensitive and neglected. He strokes it hard, jerking it fast and slick because his body is right on the edge, Steve is gorgeous and perfect and he takes everything Tony has to give him, and then Steve flutters his eyes open, looking up at Tony, meeting his eyes. His face is open, and warm, and slack with endorphins, eyes bright and glassy, and he looks so perfect, so well fucked and wrung out, that it shoves Tony over the edge.

He comes hard, and fast, and his legs tremble as he watches his come spatter over Steve’s face and chest. The thick white fluid drips down over Steve’s red, abused nipples, over the pink, splotchy skin of his belly where Tony had hit him.

Even as he watches his own come glisten on Steve’s chest and chin, Steve moans and his cock gives a valiant pulse, a twitch of effort. It’s so hot, Tony can’t stay on his feet any longer, and he drops to his knees to kiss Steve, hard and messy and wet. He can taste traces of his own come on Steve’s skin, and he doesn’t care because he’s flying high from his orgasm, from  _ Steve’s _ orgasm. He wraps one hand around the side of Steve’s throat – not squeezing, just touching, claiming.

They pant and breathe one another’s air for a long time, until Tony’s pulse slows, and he feels Steve’s slow to match his under his hand.

Then he’s reaching up and unbuckling Steve’s cuffs with one hand, the other just cradling Steve’s throat, his face. He can’t stop touching him.

Once he’s loose, Tony pulls at a corner of the bedding to wipe the come off them both, to wipe the lube off his hand, and then they collapse onto the bed together.

Tony keeps Steve pressed against him, both hands up around his jaw and face as they kiss, slow and sweet.

“God, Tony,” Steve sighs against his lips.

“Good?” Tony asks. He knows the answer, can see it in Steve’s face now just as well as he saw it as Steve’s body trembled and shook under his hands. But he wants to ask, to be sure.

“So good,” Steve tells him, groaning. He shifts closer, as though trying to crawl inside Tony’s skin, until they’re pressed together knees to chest. His skin is hot and smooth and perfect, and he doesn’t seem to care about the ridges of the arc reactor digging into his sternum. 

“Good,” Tony says, nuzzling into Steve’s neck. He presses a light kiss at the pulse beat of his throat, and Steve sighs, body relaxing into a doze.

Tony kisses his throat one more time, then closes his own eyes. He’ll just rest for a bit. 

 

END


End file.
